


A Sense of Wonder

by LyricalAmmy, Morathor



Category: One Piece
Genre: 3D2Y (One Piece), F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricalAmmy/pseuds/LyricalAmmy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morathor/pseuds/Morathor
Summary: The War at Marineford, the passing of the great pirate Whitebeard, and his final words to the world, marked the beginning a new age.  In the turbulence that followed, many new pirates took to the seas to seek out the legendary treasure of One Piece.Our story follows one such crew, from their humble beginnings in North Blue.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

The sky was clear, and the waves were gentle. The merchant ship Grey Maiden cut a white line through the waters of North Blue. Half a dozen sailors manned the sail--there wasn't much wind, so making the most of it took constant work. A man whose hair was just beginning to turn gray gritted his teeth as he pulled a rope taut.  **"Hey,"** he said to a young man who was busy swabbing the deck.  **"Take this, I'm going to check our course."**

**"Yes captain,"** the sailor said, hurrying to take his elder's place. When he was sure his crewman had a firm grip on the rope, the captain turned and made his way to the wheel of the ship. The lean, blonde young man holding it was probably the youngest sailor on deck, not yet out of his teens by the look of him. But he had a steady expression that set him apart from the eager apprentices.

**"How is it, Rackham?"**

The young man didn't look at the captain, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead and his gloved hands firmly on the wheel as he replied.  **"Unless the wind picks up, we're going to be at least two days behind schedule."**

**"Hm."** The captain reached up to stroke his salt and pepper beard.  **"A day we could afford, but two is troublesome."**

**"Do you want me to change course, captain?"**

The captain looked out over the horizon, then out over the starboard bow. In the distance, he could see dark shapes protruding from the water. Calling them islands would have been generous; they were little more than slabs of jagged rock.  **"Through the Angler's Jaw?"**

**"Up to you, sir. I just thought it was my duty as navigator to bring up the option."**

**"Well, I suppose it is. But I think pirates are more troublesome than falling a little behind schedule."**

**"Understood, sir."**

Though Rackham didn't say anything more, and continued to steer the ship with a placid expression, the captain remained deep in thought for a little while.  **"Hmm..."** He grimaced, grinding his teeth together slightly, before sighing and relaxing. **"Eh, what the hell. Split the difference."**

**"I."** The navigator looked up at him confused.  **"What do you mean?"**

**"I mean, we'll have to balance speed and safety. We can sail closer to the jaw without going through it, right?"**

**"I mean, yeah, we could. I just didn't think of that."**

**"Well, you don't have to think of everything."** He stepped towards the wheel, motioning for Rackham to step aside.  **"Get on it and get back to me when you've got the route."**

**"Yes sir."**

The navigator stepped away from the wheel as the captain took it and made his way into the forecastle. There were half a dozen sailors relaxing there--playing cards, napping, some just drinking. But there was one man who was visibly tense, reading a newspaper with an aghast expression. Rackham approached him.  **“Is that today’s? What’s going on?”**

The man swallowed and licked his lips, his mouth dry from nerves.  **“More from Marineford. Seems when Whitebeard--”** He flinched suddenly, and stopped mid-sentence as he looked up at who he was speaking to.  **“Oh! Uh. Rackham. Hi.”**

The navigator blinked.  **“Um. Hi.”**

**“Hi!”**

**“...hi?”** Rackham reached for the newspaper.  **“What about Whitebeard?”**

The man jerked back, pulling the paper out of Rackham’s reach.  **“Oh, well, he died, but that’s not really news at this point is it?”**

Rackham sighed and reached up to run a hand through his hair. Then, to his fellow sailor’s eye, his arm seemed to flicker, just for a moment. When he let it fall down at his side, he was holding the folded newspaper; gradually the other sailor came to notice his hands were empty.

**“I’ll give it back later,”** Rackham said as he made his way to the desk where the maps were kept.

He pulled out the maps of the Angler’s Jaw, which detailed the jagged rocks hidden beneath the choppy waves on the outside of the formation, and began trying to work out how close the ship could get without running afoul of any of them. But he just couldn’t get his head around it, couldn’t figure out where the balancing point was between speed and caution. If he could commit to one or the other, it would have been easy--he wouldn’t even have needed the map for that. But it seemed that the middle of the road eluded him.

Frustrated, he set aside the map, and began to read the newspaper. It was easy to find the article that the other sailor had been talking about; for the past week or so, any scrap of information out of Marineford had been front page news. But this… this actually deserved the front page. It probably deserved the entire paper. This was…

It took longer than it should have to read the article. Every paragraph or so, he would find his eyes glossing over and his mind going numb. He would realize he was running his gaze over words without actually reading them, and have to go back. But eventually, he was sure he had read the entire article, start to finish, and not missed anything. And with that, he stopped fighting the numbness that flooded his mind and body. Slowly, he went slack in his chair, his arms falling to his sides and the newspaper slipping from his fingers.

_ It was there. It was real. We weren’t chasing after nothing. _

_ Does… that make it better, or worse, that we failed? _

Rackham didn’t know how long he sat there, only that when the captain’s bellow broke through his haze, there was significantly less sunlight coming through the windows of the forecastle.

**“Blast it Rackham, have you plotted the course or not?”**

**“Oh. Uh.”** The navigator looked at the map, untouched just where he had left it.  **“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”**

**“Bos’n just told me you’ve been sitting here through his entire dinner break.”**

Rackham winced, and began to apologize again, but was not prepared for the captain’s calloused hand to be suddenly pressed against his head.

**“You alright, boy? Don’t feel feverish.”**

**“Uh. Yes. I just. I’m fine. I just. Lost track of time, I guess.”**

**“Hm. Well we’ll talk about that later. You’d best check with the doc, just in case. I’ll sort out the course.”**

**“Uh. If you say so, sir. I feel fine though.”**

**“Well I do say so. Now go on.”**

The navigator clambered out of his seat, and the captain grumbled as he took it. As Rackham made his way below deck, he became increasingly aware that he didn’t feel fine. He didn’t feel anything, unless you could count “mild unease with one’s own numbness” as a feeling.

It should have bothered him. Shouldn’t it? He should have been embarrassed, ashamed. To have neglected his duties for no good reason. It should have been a blow to his pride as a navigator. But he didn’t feel any pride in his work, and without it there could be no shame. That wasn’t normal, was it? He knew, he  _ knew  _ it hadn’t always been like that.

Not that the ship’s doctor could do anything about that. His go-to treatment for any ailment was application of alcohol, externally or internally. So when, after a few minutes of poking and prodding and examining tongue and gums, the doctor prescribed the navigator “a bit of rum to put some color in those cheeks”, Rackham was hardly surprised. With the all-clear from the doctor, Rackham should have gone back on deck and gotten back to work. Instead he found a quiet corner of the hold and hunkered down between a few crates.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t too tired to work. His body felt strangely light, and although his mind felt pretty numb, he was used to that. He had learned to work through it. That was fine.

It wasn’t that he was avoiding the captain’s anger. It wasn’t as though he could blame the man for being upset, and besides, it didn’t matter. It didn’t bother him to be yelled at or lectured. He could keep his head down and say “Yes sir” as many times as it took for the captain to run out of steam. That was fine.

It wasn’t anything. There was no reason for him to be down here avoiding his job. But, there was also no reason for him to go above deck and do it. So at least for the moment, he would stay.

He didn’t stay below for very long. With an awful sound of scraping wood, the entire ship shook, shaking Rackham out of his funk, at least enough for him to get to his feet and head for the stairs. As he did, he was trying to figure out what was going on. Had they hit one of the underwater rock formations of the Angler’s Jaw? The captain was an experienced sailor and a decent navigator in his own right, but there was a reason he left that task to Rackham.

When he reached the deck, it was immediately plain that, although the Grey Maiden was now much closer to the spires of the Angler’s Jaw, the ship had not hit rock, but wood--specifically, the wood of another ship, ramming into its starboard side. It was a small, lean ship, probably faster and more manuevable than the Maiden, and it flew a black flag with a white skull painted on it. There were also several people he didn’t recognize on deck, brandishing knives and cutlasses at the merchant crew.

**“Oh,”** he said, his voice flat.  **“Pirates.”**

The unmistakable click of a flintlock pistol being cocked came from a little ways to his right.  **“That’s right, boy. Pirates. Now don’t try anything stupid.”**

Although the navigator turned to look at the tall, richly dressed man pointing a gun at him, he wasn’t really paying attention. His mind was on another tangent entirely.

_ Pirates. _

_ Pirates? _

_ What are pirates doing here? _

_ Haven’t they heard by now? _

_ It was right there in the newspaper. Whitebeard’s final words. The One Piece is real! _

_ What kind of pirate could hear that and be content with petty ambushes in this dinky little stretch of ocean? _

_ What self-respecting pirate could hear that and not go straight for the Grand Line? _

**“Heh.”** The dry sound that escaped Rackham’s throat was almost more of a cough than a laugh, but it was the closest to his own laughter the young man had heard in years.

**“Something funny, boy?”**

**“Answered my own question.”** For the first time since he came above deck, his eyes became alert and focused as he took in the confused man pointing a gun at him. Older, better dressed than the others. Better armed, too; most of them seemed to be carrying blades. Out of this shabby excuse for a pirate crew, this was the least shabby. Add in the hat, and it was fair to make a guess. **“You the captain?”**

**“That’s right, I am. And you think that’s funny?”**

**“Oh. Um.”** For just a moment, Rackham pondered what to say. Was there any point to trying to explain? Then he shrugged his shoulders.  **“Nah.”**

As Rackham’s hand moved, he could see the pirate captain starting to squeeze the trigger of the gun, but the man wasn’t fast enough. Before he could fire off a shot, the navigator’s hand made contact with his forearm, lifting the barrel away from his face--and snapping a couple of bones in the process. With his arm bent in a way arms were not meant to bend, the pirate’s fingers fell limp, and Rackham easily plucked the pistol from his grip. He leveled it at the pirate captain.

Rackham glanced across the deck, watching the boarding pirates. Some seemed aghast, like they were still taking in what was happening. Some were fidgeting awkwardly, perhaps unsure of what to do. A few were a bit bolder, trying to grab at the sailors of the Grey Maiden, presumably trying to take hostages of their own to bargain with. Rackham turned his gaze back on the pirate captain, green eyes once again dull and detached.  **“You should take your men and go back to your ship now.”**

The pirate clutched his broken arm in his uninjured hand, grimacing.  **“Just like that, huh? You think you’ve won with a single blow?”**

**“I don’t think I’ve won. I don’t know who wins this fight. I just think you don’t want to find out. You’re not here to take that kind of risk. You’re only here because it’s easy. So take the easy way out and go.”**

The pirate captain looked down, gritting his teeth, eyes shining with restrained tears. It might have just been the pain of his arm, but Rackham wondered if there was any shame to those tears.

On their captain’s orders, the pirates disembarked and retreated. It was all very, very awkward. The pirates seemed confused and embarrassed. The sailors of the Grey Maiden, for their part, were quite surly about just letting pirates go after having their ship damaged, boarded, and their lives threatened. But they weren’t angry enough to risk their lives by escalating the situation.

Rackham didn’t pay much attention to the whole affair. He took his place at the wheel and, as the pirates dislodged their last boarding line from the bow of the Grey Maiden, called out to the captain.  **“What’s our heading, sir?”**

The captain stomped over to the wheel, glaring daggers at the navigator.  **“That was real stupid, Rackham.”**

**“Yes, sir.”**

**“Could have gotten yourself killed!”**

**“Yes, sir.”**

**“And the rest of us too!”**

**“Sorry, sir.”**

**“And where have you been, anyway? It shouldn’t have taken that long for a checkup. I swear, if you were just sitting around spacing out again…”**

After what seemed like hours of interjecting ‘yes, sir’ and ‘sorry, sir’ as appropriate, the captain went over the route he had mapped out. Rackham obediently set the ship’s heading, and they were back on their way. Back to business as usual.

Middle of the road, full speed ahead.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a calmness to letting oneself be carried by the ocean's waves. To not worry about where you were heading, and with nary a concern over the place you left behind. There was a freedom in that.

If it occurred to the girl currently enjoying this freedom that a lone figure floating belly up was a cause for concern for any self respecting sailor that might come across her she surely gave no sign. Just as she gave no sign that she noticed the merchant ship until it had cut too close and in its wake she was dunked under the sea's waves. 

She came back up sputtering indignantly and ready to dole out several pieces of her mind. 

Her angry waving, shouting figure did not immediately catch notice, but when it did, there was a quick call to action.

" **Man overboard!"** One of the sailors took up the cry and it soon echoed across the ship. The captain, along with a couple other senior members leaned over the deck's railing as some of the crew began lowering a lifeboat to try and get to this person.

" **Cap'n does that girl sound...angry to you?"**

" **There's no ship wreckage or anythin' as far as the eye can see either."**

The captain rubbed his chin, thoughtful, there were tales of things that lurked in the water-- fair of face but ill of intent. The girl, who was swimming her way to the lifeboat in what could only be considered as sullenly, didn't seem like she wished any harm. Still, there was a usefulness in caution, and the captain kept his hand on his weapon as she was brought aboard.

**"Are you the captain?"** The girl, dripping wet and wearing naught but a two-piece, had focused on him immediately.

**"Aye…"** he replied carefully.

**"Your navigator sucks! Your lookouts are worse! How did you not see me? I was almost run over!"**

It gave the man pause. This situation was sliding quite steadily towards absurdity. In fact, several of the crew were stifling laughter.

**"I do apologize, lass, for the inconvenience my crew might have caused you."**

**"I lost my snack,"** she continued, not at all placated by his cautious words,  **"And sea water went right up my nose. You ever breathe salt water? It** **_sucks._ ** **"**

**"Aye. We've all taken a lungful now and again. Lass, can I ask what you were doing out there?"**

**"Swimming,"** she said it easily, as if this answer made total sense.

**"Swimming. Swimming?"**

**"....yeah? I mean obviously. What else would I be doing?"**

The situation was now, officially, absurd. It was definitely a first, even for a captain this seasoned. He decided that if this sea creature held any ill will it would be best to try and appeal to any better nature she might have.

**"Where were you headed, lass?"**

**"Don't know. I usually figure it out when I get there."**

**"Well I'll tell you what. In return for almost hitting you, we'll take you to where we're goin'. You work for what you eat, but we can give you safe passage."**

She looked contemplative, like she was seriously weighing the pros and cons, then held out a hand with a bright smile.

**"Deal."**

The captain shook her hand, wondering what kind of deal he just signed on for, then set the thought aside and nodded to one of the older crewmen.

**"Get her a shirt and show her 'round."**

Several of the younger crew had been all too happy to offer their shirts to the girl, but she passed them over in favor for what was easily the largest man on the ship. His shirt became an almost dress, tied at her hip into a simple knot. She had also accepted a few straps of cloth, tying her pale hair up and well out of her eyes. She refused any and all offer of shoes, however, and the man who had taken charge of her had admitted defeat with a bit of chagrin. 

He showed her around the ship quickly, going over names and crew with an almost careless air, and the girl retained a sort of detached curiosity regarding the other people on the ship. She was determined to not get attached to any of them, but wanted to remain on friendly terms.

**"And this is our navigator,"** the sailor ended his little tour with the youth, who was manning the wheel and didn't even glance at the girl. He had shown the least amount of curiosity regarding her presence this entire time. Actually he had shown zero curiosity.

**"What's his name?"** She, on the other hand, seemed very curious about such a young man in such an important position.

There was a momentary pause before the sailor cleared his throat.

**"Ah. What?"** It stirred the young man out of his thoughts, at least a little, and he looked at them. 

And didn't seem able to take his eyes off the girl. 

**"Hello!"** This was easily the most excited the girl had been about meeting any crewman on the Grey Maiden.

**"Hi…."** He was still staring. The girl seemed wholly unbothered by this and the sailor had to groan a little.

**"I'm Lulubel."**

**"Rackham…"**

**"That's a big first name."**

**"What? No. Wait. Tobias. Well. Toby. Rackham's my last name."**

She clapped her hands together, delighted,  **"Lulu then. It's nice to meet you!"**

**"Y-yeah…"**

The sailor put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention.

**"Best not to distract him, lass. Come on. I'll show you to your work. You can meet-up later if you want."**

Lulu smiled again, turning back to Toby, who was still staring at her.

**"Can we? Can we talk later?"** She asked, tone clearly hopeful.

**"Y-yeah...I-"** he cleared his throat,  **"I'd like that."**

Lulu's smile got, somehow, brighter before the sailor lead her off to the galley to assist the cook with dinner.

Her previous demeanor returned almost immediately upon leaving Toby's presence. Lulu was friendly and bubbly but was clearly keeping the sailors at arms length. This suited the cook just fine-- as long as the girl could chop and peel he didn't give a shit if they were best friends or not.

As for Lulu she found a comfort in the easy routine of peeling potatoes. Her mind was able to drift as her hands worked, it wasn't so different to when she was floating about in the water, and she found herself quietly singing.

**"Look at you strawberry fish**

**Can you grant my wish?**

**I love it when you blub my name…"**

Across the room the cook seemed to release a tension in his shoulders, almost without realizing it. He felt oddly...nostalgic listening to the girl. Like she gave him an old, forgotten memory. It was a little unsettling.

But. She was making quick work of the potatoes so the cook shoved the thought away.


	3. Chapter 3

It was past sunset when Tobias Rackham stepped into the forcastle of the Grey Maiden. Or maybe stumbled was the right word; it was hard to walk steadily when you couldn’t feel your feet. He thought he heard someone ask,  **“Long day?”**

And so he nodded, even though it hadn’t felt like a long day. Most days were long to him, one dull hour of monotony dragging into the next. It was exhausting, but it was life. He’d gotten used to it.

Today had felt short for Toby. Because at some point, pink had happened. And he’d gone from the dull gray numbness he’d gotten used to trudging through, to the dizzy, light-headed numbness that only came through occasionally, and which he hadn’t yet gotten the hang of.

He’d spent the remainder of the day standing at the wheel, staring out at the horizon without taking it in. He couldn’t have told you what time it was, or where the ship was, or if it was still on course. It couldn’t have been that bad; the captain had come by to lecture Tobias for “somehow being more distracted than usual” and “acting like you’ve never seen a girl before”, but hadn’t actually taken him off duty. Well, not until just now, and that was just because Rackham hadn’t realized his shift was up until someone came to point it out.

Toby didn’t trust himself to navigate the stairs to the lower deck and the crew quarters when he couldn’t feel his feet, so he settled onto a bench built into the corner of the forecastle, facing the wall and hoping the limited field of vision would help with his sense of disorientation. It didn’t, of course; his mind was perfectly capable of drifting unsettlingly and bouncing off random thoughts without any visual stimuli at all.

_ … _

_ … _

_ …’like you’ve never seen a girl before.’ That’s not the point, honestly how do you not get that that’s not the point? _

_ Okay, I get it, I’m a… something year old boy.  _ Rather than pausing to take in that he did not know his own age off the top of his head, Toby’s mind pressed forward.  _ You’re used to young sailors obsessed with pretty girls, she’s a pretty girl, I sort of follow your logic. _

_ Except how is the far more obvious and unusual thing not clicking for you? She’s… she’s! _

_ She’s bright. _

_ She’s colorful, and lively, and in my business, and yeah okay I guess I don’t know how to deal with that because it never happens! Nothing ever happens! It’s the same thing every hour of every day, gray gray gray gray GRAY you called the ship GRAY maiden and then act surprised when a bit of color throws me off balance? _

_ Am I losing my mind? _

_ Am I sailing on the same ship as the rest of you? Where are you? Is there color there? What are you talking about? _

_ What-- _

Abruptly, Toby lost his train of thought. Not that it wasn’t completely off the rails already. If anything, he had found himself lifted gently out of a careening crash and settled on a set of tracks that he could roll along slowly until he was ready to stop.

It took a moment to realize what was pulling him out of his haze. It was a voice, gently humming a tune which was probably written to be jaunty, but slowed down and lacking vigor, it struck Toby as wistful. It gave him something to focus on--in fact, insisted that he focus on it--other than his disjointed thoughts. When he found himself grounded again, more aware of his body and surroundings, the song stopped.

**“You said we could talk later,”** said the girl. What was her name? As much as her brief visit had thrown his entire day off kilter, the specifics of it were a bit jumbled. Lulu? Lulu.

**“Yeah. I think I said that. Yeah.”**

**“Have you ever seen a mermaid?”**

**“I. Uh. No.”** The answer came out of his mouth before he had even finished processing the question. Where had that come from? Why would she be asking that of all things?

**“Ah, I see. Okay. How about… hold on…”**

He heard her rummaging through what he assumed to be some sort of sack or pouch, and he turned over, away from the wall, to face her. She was sitting on the floor, with her back against the bench where he was laying. The back of her head was inches away from his face; had she always been this close? Somehow he thought her voice had been coming from farther away.

**“Found it!”** she said, holding up a piece of paper.

**“...have the others been talking about me?”**

**“What?”**

**“The rest of the crew. Did they say anything about me?”**

**“Nope! Why?”**

**“They didn’t tell you I’ve been to the Grand Line?”**

**“You have? That’s great! But nope.”**

**“Then why are you asking me about mermaids.”**

**“I ask lots of people that. And you’re the navigator.”**

**“...navigators know about mermaids?”** He turned the concept over and over in his head, trying to figure out the logic, but he was just getting more confused.

**“Navigators have to know about lots of things, right? It’s a job that takes a lot of training, and you don’t let inexperienced sailors muck around with it. Right?”**

**“I. Yeah? I mean, you’re right, but I still don’t follow where you’re going. Sorry”**

**“Well. Where I’m going, is that they trust someone as young as you with something as important as that. That’s impressive! I’m impressed. And I think if anyone around here is going to know about things, it’s you. So here.”** She shoved the piece of paper into his hands-although, seeing it up close, Toby could see it was a sort of waterproof cloth, similar to what the ship’s maps were printed on.  **“Have you seen one of these?”**

Toby examined the drawing on the cloth.  **“...I’m guessing it’s not just a compass? I mean, just, in the picture, it kind of looks like a compass.”**

**“Kind of, yeah! But it’s also kind of like a ball.”** She held up one hand, fingers curled into a loose circle.  **“About that big.”**

**“Uh. I mean. Maybe?”**

**“Maybe?”**

**“Hard to tell from just that. I’ve seen things that kinda fit that description, but I don’t have any idea if they’re what you’re actually looking for.”** He rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling.  **“They’re probably not. Sorry.”**

**“That’s okay.”**

Although her voice was chipper, Toby couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t okay. But, he told himself, maybe he was reading into it. He wasn’t sure if he should press her on the matter, and even if he wanted to, he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He didn’t know what else to say.

Perhaps neither did see, because after a few moments of silence, she began to sing. It was the same tune as she had hummed before, now with words and a little more vigor.

**“When I look up at the sky, what meets my eyes?**

**Can I just stand by while the world dies?”**

It was a pleasant, upbeat tune, but line by line the words settled like a weight on his chest, pinning him to the wooden bench. To the here and now. This wasn’t the dull gray fog that enshrouded his thoughts most days, and it wasn’t the weightless drifting that occasionally pulled him out of that haze. He was increasingly aware of his surroundings, increasingly,  _ uncomfortably  _ aware of himself. He hadn’t felt like this in… in…

_ How long have I been like this? _

**“Halfway between the black and gray,**

**Is no place for a life to waste away.”**

_ Wasting away! How long have I wasted?  _ With his heart suddenly pounding, his mouth suddenly dry, Toby leaped off the bench and vaulted over Lulu. 

She stopped singing abruptly with a surprised squeak.  **“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”**

Toby stammered an incoherent reply--he was surprised that he even registered her words, agitated as he was. He grabbed a newspaper from a nearby table, lifting it so that in the last rays of sunlight filtering through the grubby windows of the forecastle, he could just make out the date.

_ July… 1522. So. So that’s. Uh. Five? Five years? Of this? _

Toby’s knees buckled, and after failing to regain his balance after a few stumbling steps, he fell backwards, collapsing on Lulu even as she tried to get up--to get out of his way? To catch him? He wasn’t sure. The fall wasn’t as hard as he had anticipated, but in its own way far less comfortable.

**“Owww…”**

**“Sorry,”** he said, rolling off the girl.  **“Are you okay?”**

**“MIght bruise.”** Lulu got up, dusting off the front of her oversized shirt, reaching down to brush her knees. She looked down at him.  **“How about you?”**

**“I’ll be fine.”**

**“I didn’t break you?”**

**“What?”**

**“I’m not going to get in trouble for breaking the navigator right?”**

**“What? No.”** He got to his feet with a groan.  **“I’ll be fine.”**

The two stood quietly for a moment. Lulu opened her mouth, then closed it again. Eventually, it was Toby who broke the silence. 

**“Well.”**

It was not a brilliant addition to the conversation, but it seemed to move things along, as Lulu replied,  **“Well.”**

**“Goodnight.”**

**“Goodnight.”**

And before he could find a way to make things any more weird and uncomfortable, Toby walked down the stairs and found his way to his bunk. Although it quickly became apparent that sleep wasn’t an option--his mind was racing in circles as his stomach tied itself into knots--he laid still with his eyes closed, just in case. At the very least, resting his body couldn’t hurt.

Toby lay in his little cot and held out for morning.


End file.
